These Kids
by MissSugarQuill
Summary: These kids, no matter how messed up or delinquent some many find them, had a family. Here are their stories, all truth and no lies.
1. SQUID

ï»¿ 

Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

**These Kids**

**I Promise**

(SQUID-BASED. FROM HIS MOTHER'S POV.)

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_If you looked in the window, you would see a middle-aged lady standing in the middle of the room. She has her face down and her unkempt hair hangs around her face darkly._

_She gives the place a depressionable air; sort of like the person you would never want to be._

---

I'm thinking deeply, and I hate it. That's why I like drinking so much; because I don't have to think.

Just deal with everything next morning.

My job? I work at a pub every morning for peanuts. The peanuts, fortunately, pay for all the vodka and beer I need. The child support money that bastard sends helps with the rent and food.

At least he pays the money.

He doesn't even know his own son doesn't live with me anymore. Got sent to some juvenile camp because he broke into someone's house. Sometimes, it's good to see that boy's gone. But most of the time, I don't like it. He was good at cleaning up the house and helping me when I was a little drunk.

Just a little.

_I bite my lip as I look in the mirror. _

I'm only thirty-six, but I look much older. I used to be a pretty girl, too. Just ask anymore. Back at school, I was a very pretty girl. It wasn't plain obvious, but people seemed to notice after awhile of knowing me.

I liked my eyes the best; they were almond-shaped and I had the most beautiful eyelashes.

You probably think I'm very vain, thinking such things about myself. But I'm allowed to think them, because I'm not pretty anymore.

Boys used to like me a lot, and a lot of boys used to like me. No one ever asked me out, not until I was in the tenth grade. I was a nice and friendly person. Something I'm not now.

People really liked me...

I had the perfect life.

_I groan as a quenching feeling slowly comes over my brain._

_I sink onto the floor and close my eyes._

My son... Alan. His father was... he was a nice person when I met him.

I remember I used to really love him. Him and Alan. Yeah, I used to love Alan a lot, even after his father left.

He was my pride and joy. I never wanted to let go of him.

But that all changed, of course.

I met his father, Ray, when I was twenty. I was working part time at a restaurant and he was a customer. We hit it off and I do remember that warm and fuzzy feeling I got every time he smiled at me. Or when we spoke.

I hate remembering things like that. They're all in the past and they're not coming back.

I haven't drunk any alcohol in the past three days. I'm not entirely sure why. And I've been thinking about Alan and Ray a lot. My parents and sister, too. I don't have any of them anymore. They all left me when I turned to alcohol. Well, I only turned to alcohol after Ray left. Alan was the only person who didn't leave me, but they took him away.

Maybe I remember all this because I haven't drunk for quite some time. The craving was strong, though.

_For some reasons, tears spring into my eyes._

My bloodshot eyes that will never again have the pretty sparkle in them.

My eyes that have seen many things; good and bad.

Ray and I got married... we named it the happiest day of our lives. That soon changed, of course, when Alan was born. We named _that_ the happiest day of our lives.

But that no longer stands.

My son; he was mine and Ray's. He looked a lot like him, but he had my eyes. I loved him so much. Many sleepless nights and tiring days we had to suffer to look after our baby, but we endured it happily.

Because he was our son.

Alan was spoilt rotten. Ray and I filled about thirty albums with photos of him. We'd take him everywhere and sing him lullabies; every few minutes we'd hold him close and say 'I love you'.

Those memories are fuzzy now.

I remember Ray used to do that to me, too. He'd hold me and whisper 'I love you', and I believed him. I loved him back... and that was a mistake.

_More tears are pouring down. _

I hate thinking deeply. So many emotions to deal with. I definitely needed a beer to help put me back on track after this.

But I can't move at the moment. And I can't stop thinking of my son. For some reason, I really want to go back to the past. When it was much easier to hug my son and tell him that I loved him. When I still had Ray. When my parents were still around, and Joyce could help me out as only an older sister could.

Even if Alan was still here, even if he wasn't rotting away at the correctional facility, I still wouldn't be able to hug him and say 'I love you'.

For one thing, I don't. But maybe if I went back to the past, I might learn to love him. Again. Babies are easier to love than teenagers.

Still... he was a good kid. He must think I hate him, which I... do... Yeah, I guess I do. Funny, how you can love a person so much, but hate them the next day.

It didn't happen overnight, though.

Alan and I used to be very close. I was the perfect mummy to him. But as the years wore on... we drifted apart. First I stopped walking him to and from school because I was busy. Then I stopped tucking him in at bedtime. I stopped saying "Goodbye, I love you" when he left for school. I stopped giving him hugs and kisses. I stopped making proper meals and stopped eating at the table.

All while drinking.

Alan sensed something was wrong. One afternoon he asked me to help him with homework but I told him snappishly I was busy.

Yeah, I still remember that.

He stopped asking me to help him after that. He became independent and quiet. He had stopped coming to me for hugs and comfort after bad dreams a long time ago.

It didn't help that he was growing up so my time with him was becoming shorter and shorter.

My drinking addiction steadily increased as the days wore on. The first time I passed out Alan was so scared he locked himself in his bedroom and wouldn't come out.

_I'm crying badly now. My straggly blonde hair looks dead and I sob into my weak and wrinkly hands._

I'm the one thing middle-aged woman (like me) fear of becoming the most.

An old lady whom no one loves.

One time I saw Alan's friend's mother give Alan a hug, and a sudden surge of jealousy rose in me. So I plastered on a fake smile and crouched down, saying, "Come here, Alan."

But he didn't come over to me. It had been many years since I gave him a hug and he was probably a little afraid of me, especially as I had hit him a few times. When I was drunk.

I started hating him after that.

Everytime I see him, I see Ray. The man who left me with a burden.

Money became a problem.

I spent it all on my needs and didn't really think about Alan.

I'm starting to see how unfair I've been. I hate feeling like this. For three days I've been thinking about Alan, and suddenly I become the worst mother in the world?

No, I never thought this way. I was the girl who had been ripped off. I got married young, had a child young, and pretty much threw away my youth. All for a man who promised me everything.

And then left.

I reassure myself that this will all end soon... At eleven o'clock... I will be so drunk I won't even be able to come home.

Then I won't be able to remember any of this.

I always accused Alan of stealing my money, although I knew I had spent extra on alcohol and just wouldn't admit it.

He stole, and I knew it. He stole food to keep himself alive. He stole money from other people to keep us both alive. To keep me from trouble. I've started to realise how many problems I'm coming across since he's gone. Bills. No food in the house.

He used to take care of all that, while I drank myself into oblivion.

Not a worry in the world...

Then he got caught and he was taken away. I was angry at him for that. Now I had to take care of myself, and that completely sucked.

_I'm having trouble standing up, but I manage. I stagger towards the bathroom because I'm feeling a little sick. I look into the mirror again._

An old lady whom no one loves stares back.

It's all my fault no one cares about me. I deserve it.

See what depriving alcohol from me does?

I need to hang onto the lie that I am the victim, and alcohol helps me believe it. But now the lie is slipping away, and is uncovering the truth.

It's all my fault I'm where I am.

_I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I see little Alan in my arms, smiling at me._

_"I love you, mummy."_

_"I love you, Alan."_

He... he was my child. He _is_ my child. And... I don't hate him.

What I wouldn't give to have him back in my arms. He's fourteen, I know. But he's my son. He's still my little baby. And when I see him, I won't see Ray. I'll see _me_.

Because he's my child.

But it's too late. He's gone and he's probably glad he's far away from me. When he finishes his sentence, Social Services will put him in a foster home where the family will love him and care for him.

In the exact way I used to when Ray was still around.

If I had continued being the perfect mother, Alan would still be here. He wouldn't have needed to steal, and therefore, there wouldn't be any reason as to why he would need to go to a correctional facility.

_I check my watch._

It's almost time for me to go to the pub and drink so I won't remember this depressing moment of reflection.

Tomorrow I'll wake up and I'll be back to normal.

Back to my naive, ignorant self. Back to thinking the whole world revolves around me.

Maybe that's why I'm not making any movement to walk out of the house to the pub. I don't want to forget about all this. Not anymore.

If... If I return to being a good mother, maybe they'll let my son come back?

I'll promise to love him and tell him so. I'll promise to cook him the food he wants and help him with his homework. I'll promise to find a decent job and be the good mother I once was.

I promise not to drink anymore.

That was an "I", not an "I'll". Not an "I will".

Because I've already made the promise and I won't break it.

I promise.

_I smile slightly, and it feels good. I rise to my feet and carefully smooth out the crease in my pants._

I love you, Alan.

---

_If you looked in the window, you would see a middle-aged lady rising up in the bathroom. She has a small genuine smile on her face and her eyes brighten in the slightest._

_She gives the place the air of someone who is willing to give whatever they've got to put things right again._

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A/N: Oh my gosh. I can't believe I wrote that, lol. That must be one of the most angsty things I've ever written. Well, feedback is always adored! (smile) I'm doing Zero's mother's POV, next. And then I'm not sure who to do after that! Why don't you suggest a fave D-tent boy? (I might include Twitch and Barf Bag, I shall tell you next chapter!) Okay, that's it. Please don't expect another update soon. Lol. I have CGL and my Zero story to write, too. Just please drop a review if you think this was nice/bad/terrible/okay/needs improving. Thanks! :) --MSQ.


	2. ZERO

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Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

**These Kids**

**I'm Not Giving Up**

(ZERO-BASED. FROM HIS MOTHER'S POV.)

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Where can he be?

I've been looking for my little son, Hector, for months. I've got a job and an apartment that I'm not even _renting_. It's mine. Well, ours. It belongs to Hector too.

If only I can find him...

_I rush off back home from work to get dressed in more comfortable clothes_.

It's time for my daily hour search for Hector.

Things have a habit of disappearing when you need it most. My wallet's suddenly gone and I'm poring through all my things to find it again.

Something falls out of one of my oldest bags; I've had it even before Hector was born.

It's a photograph of him. And me.

I fully intend to shove it back in and continue my search for my wallet, but I look at it a second too long and suddenly I can't tear my eyes away. Hector was only two when the photo was taken. He's grinning up at the camera, his stubbornly untidy brown locks falling into his dark eyes.

_I bite my lip and try to put it down, but I can't_.

I'm smiling in the picture. Smiling happily. I haven't been happy since. Content, maybe... but not happy.

Suddenly, I don't feel like taking my regular walk around the block, hoping to see a small boy of about twelve lurking around. He'd definitely be lurking. Hector was never one to be parading around cheerfully. Even when he was happy, which didn't happen very often, the most he'd show would be a smile. He was quiet and shy, and I guess it's my fault. He's never been with kids his age and he rarely spoke to anyone. Not even to me.

But I loved him with everything I had and he loved me back; we both knew that. I'd hug him close and kiss him, and he'd rest his small head against my chest and murmur, "I love you, mummy..."

_I drop the photo and stand up shakily. Then quite suddenly, I drop onto my bed and let out a sigh of exhaustion._

Every now and then, I'll fall into a moment of reflection. A reflection of my life. I think about all the things I've done and everything I _haven't_ done. I think about Hector and what I wouldn't give to have him back. I think about where in the world he is.

My best option is that he's in a foster home. That makes me relaxed and sad at the same time. Relaxed because at least I know that he's safe and being looked after. Sad because I know that I'll most likely never see him again. I won't be _allowed_ to, because I wasn't a good enough mother.

Sometimes, a horrifying and sickening feeling comes over me that he might be dead.

But I always assure myself that Hector's alive and healthy, and one day, I'll have him back in my arms.

If he is in a foster home, then it's all my fault. Heck, wherever he is at the moment, it's all my fault anyway. I shouldn't have left him there on that cursed day, where I fell unconscious on my way to "try and make a better life for me and my son".

I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive myself.

If I don't see him again, I never _will_ forgive myself.

Hector was the best thing that ever happened to me and now he's gone. Have you ever had that happen to you? Just think, the _best_ thing that happens to you and suddenly, it's disappeared.

You could say I had an okay life. Everyone fights, shoves and pushes to be the most popular at high school, and that's no exception for my friends and I. We weren't at the top of the ladder, but we sure were close.

Number one first mistake.

Popularity isn't something you can play with. There's a fine line between being well-known and loved, and being the school's biggest slut.

Unfortunately, I belonged to the latter.

During those days, it all felt like we'd live like that forever. Our only problems was who was showing more leg than us. You need real friends at high school, or you'll never survive. Temporary alliances work out alright, but you need close friends who'll watch your back.

People always say how a person turns out is mostly affected by family. Well, I had no real family. When I was eleven, my parents died and I went to live with my auntie and uncle who had three other kids, all in primary school. Typically, I was ignored a lot so they had no idea what I was up to at school and all those late nights.

They clothed, fed and provided for me, but other than that, we may as well have been total strangers. My little cousins were a bit wary of me, but I got along okay with the oldest one.

When I was eighteen, I got pregnant. I didn't mean to, but it happened. And when it did, my fun-filled life crumbled. Luckily, I finished school before my pregnancy got any more serious, and graduated. The father-of-my-baby completely freaked out and left me to deal with it by myself.

Jackass.

_The painful memories are almost too much for me and I walk to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water._

It was then when I realised how many "friends" I actually had. Three out of a bunch of about fifteen. Looking back now, I'm not sure what kind of "fun" we had when we were together. Certainly not the fun like in primary, when us little school girls would squeal and laugh endlessly over nothing.

My aunt and uncle were disappointed in me, but like I said before, I wasn't much of a worry to them. So what if I was their niece? I was officially an adult and capable of taking care of myself. They had to worry about the little ones. The oldest girl, Shailey, was getting into a lot of trouble at school. She was much more important than me, the confused niece who was pregnant.

My aunt suggested I get an abortion, and my uncle agreed. But I didn't want to. I was scared out of my mind and I had no idea what I wanted to do.

When we finally went to the GP, he said that it was miracle I even conceived.

He said there was a very slim chance I'd ever conceive again.

I knew I was a bit of a party girl, but one day I _did_ want to settle down, get married, and have kids. Start a family. But now this doctor was telling me the little fetus in my stomach was possibly the only child I'll ever have.

That did it. I was going to keep the baby.

I never would've survived those nine months without my three best friends. They did everything for me. They looked up stuff and provided me lots of things to help with my pregnancy. Theresa even gave me a big fat cheque.

Despite it all, those memories are cloudy now.

When I gave birth, I fell in love. With who? My little son, Hector Zeroni.

My aunt and uncle became considerably warmer when the new arrival came, but it was clear they wanted me out of their house. My uncle offered me a job and my aunt helped me find a nice apartment I could rent.

It was hard.

And it just got worse when my cousin Shailey committed suicide. My aunt and uncle couldn't handle her death very well, and neither could Miguel and Tina, her younger brother and sister.

I left their house of mourning and grievance and into the apartment I knew I could never keep up with the rent.

My relatives weren't very much to me. It was obvious they never really loved me in any way, and I was never too close to my cousins either, but I still felt like I was leaving everything behind.

And all I had was Hector.

I managed for two years as a single, young mother. At the time, they felt like the worst two years of my life. But there was more to come.

To this day, I'm still not sure of the reason why Shailey killed herself. It's not like I stuck around the house and demanded to see the note she had written. In fact, I'm not sure even sure there was a note. I hated seeing my "family" as they were, crying for a family member, so I left as quickly as I could after offering all my sympathy.

Sometimes, though, I sort of understand what pressure Shailey must have felt. As I sat on the worn streets holding my precious two-year-old in my arms, hoping to keep him and myself warm, I know that she must've felt awful and there was nothing to live for.

But I've never felt that far, because I lived for Hector.

We both became homeless and I had no one to turn to. Out of my three best friends, I only had one left. One had gotten married and moved on with her life, probably thinking high school friends were too low to think about. The other had moved away to Canada or something.

And then it felt like I _had_ no one, and I _was_ no one.

If it wasn't for my son, I'd probably be dead.

_After I've gulped down the icy water, I lie on the sofa in the living room and close my eyes. Absently, I take a pillow and hug it in my arms._ _I pretend it's my son._

I remember the joy of teaching Hector how to walk and talk. Funny the things that could make you happy. I remember the delight when Hector grinned and said, "MAMA!" I still feel slightly lightened when I think about it. Believe it or not, Hector was pretty talkative when he was three-years-old. He stopped after we got evicted, though, and... I'm sorry it's so.

Because kids say the darnest things and I've missed out on enjoying Hector's little talks. He became so quiet and independent, that I wondered if it was natural in a child. He could even take care of himself when he was four.

He was twelve when I left him at that park, so that means... we survived on the streets and shelters for _ten_ years.

They weren't ten _long_ years, nor years that passed by in a blink of the eye. It was just a normal, lengthy, period of time.

I took Hector to the park a lot and encouraged him to play with the other children. I wanted him to be like a normal child, even though he didn't come from a average and respectable family. I knew that most people would not like the background he had, even though I loved him more than air. It's just human nature for people to judge by appearances, which was mainly why I was so set on making myself and Hector look presentable. I just wanted to feel accepted.

We stayed at Theresa's apartment for a little while, but she had her own life and I knew I was just a burden to her. I had to create a life as well, to look after myself and my son. No one can say I didn't try, because I did. I got temp jobs but it was hard for me to look after Hector at the same time. Sometimes, Theresa would babysit for him (free of charge), but mostly, I left him alone. I knew he didn't like it. He'd get this sad look in his eyes whenever I told him I had to leave for a couple of hours.

So that's when I took him to the toy store and let him pick one toy that he wanted, so that he wouldn't feel so alone all the time.

I left Theresa's place when I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like I was this huge hole in her life and I was just dragging her down with me. So I left the only shelter I had. And welcomed my son to life on the streets.

Suddenly, I get the bursting inspiration to look for my son again. I _will_ find him. I have to.

_I stand up and put on a jacket. I grab my purse and find my wallet in there. I smile slightly._

God isn't that cruel. He can't rip my son away from me and not return him. God's been good to me for a little while ever since I lost Hector, and he's given me the strength to not give up.

I will _never_ give up.

He's my own flesh and blood.

I used to tell him I loved him more than air, and that's still true. In fact, it's truer than it ever was.

And when you love someone that much, you can't give up. You can't lose them forever.

I'm in the right and God's with me. Might it be tomorrow or in ten years time, Hector will be with me again. And when I do have him, I'll never_ ever_ let go of him.

But until then, I'll have to keep trying.

I'm not giving up, _ever_.

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A/N: Okay, I didn't mean to go into so much depth about Zero's mother, hehehe. I suppose I described her life more than her feelings for Zero, but that's because we all know the close bond they had. As for Squid, however, I wanted a character change so that he could return to a different mother. Oooh, this is getting interesting! I wonder what I'll do for Magnet... (winkwink) Hmm... Okay, I _will_ be doing Barf Bag and Twitch, so if you want them next, say so.

NEXT: Magnet  
AFTER MAGNET: Armpit  
AFTER ARMPIT: Say so in your review and majority will rule. So don't be difficult on me and you all choose different ones. Lol.

(X-Ray, Caveman, Zigzag, Barf Bag, Twitch)

By the way, it won't ALWAYS be from their mother's POV. For example, I'm going to write Magnet from his FATHER'S POV, though it's much easier for me to write maternally... Lol. Thank you SO much for the reviews! I was squealing when I saw them. Hehe. And I'm so glad I've made some of you a little teary... hehehe.

--MSQ.

PS. _These Kids_ by _Joel Turner_ is a brilliant song that I think describes D-tent really well! I love it so much. I listened/rapped to it all the time I was at camp until my friend got annoyed at me and threw her stuffed star at me. Hehe.


	3. MAGNET

Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

**These Kids**

**No Matter What**

(MAGNET-BASED. FROM HIS FATHER'S POV)

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He was a good kid. He always had a liking for animals, especially dogs. I don't know why he felt so affectionate towards such creatures. Truth was, I didn't regard dogs as much, but I respected his love for them.

Jose, my son, hasn't been home for the last couple of months.

At first, it felt really weird. Not having him around created a bigger impact on me than I thought it would. My two daughters and wife bawled their eyes out when the judge trialed him ten months at this place called Camp Green Lake, but I had to remain composed and cool.

I was a respected and well-known citizen.

I wasn't like those lousy politicians who don't even care about their children, because my family is the most important thing to me. It's just... Jose was becoming a teenager, and we were afraid of what path he'd pick.

When your children start to grow up, more often than not they'll start to drift away from you. Especially if you're the father and your child's a boy. It's just nature. I didn't want that happen, since I was quite close to Jose. But I didn't want to mother-hen his life, so I let him have his space and freedom.

It started off all right. He got average grades and topped his sporting classes. He made some good friends and for awhile he put school before anything else.

Then after a few years, he started cutting classes when he didn't feel like going. My wife, Rinatta, and I tried to talk to him. He pretended to listen, since we were loving and understanding parents.

But he started to cut classes again.

After a certain period of time, cutting classes didn't seem so bad. He only did it about once a week, and he'd usually skive off something not important, like Visual Arts.

I worked hard to get to where I am today.

I almost lost Rinatta in a car crash the night I intended to propose to her. Drunk driving, but not by me. I don't drink.

I _was_ driving the car, with her next to me, watching me lovingly, when this car coming from the left suddenly crashed into us. Of course, since Rinatta was sitting in the passenger seat, she got the worst of the blow.

The doctor said there wasn't much hope.

I spent so many hours, days, weeks, by her bed, holding her hand and hoping... urging her out of her coma...

I loved her with all my heart, and I still do.

You can't possibly imagine the relief that filled me when I heard she was going to be okay. It was like... I could _breathe_ again.

Suddenly, I appreciated everything ten times more.

I married her and took precautions on _everything_. I didn't want to have the threat of losing her again. If she dies, _I_ will die. It's sometimes painful loving someone so much, but most of the time, it's a gift.

My children are the most important thing to me. If I had to choose between them and my career, they would win hands down.

But I am the worst at showing my feelings.

Jose was our firstborn, and we loved him more than anything else, particularly as we had tried so hard. After the car accident, our doctor had informed us that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for Rinatta to conceive. We tried several times, and we thanked the Lord when a little baby had grown in her womb.

Then the doctor started to warn us about miscarriages.

We had hope and we had faith. We kept a little logbook and wrote down things such as, "the baby kicked today!" and, "the baby is still alive and healthy."

Because even if the pregnancy did end up in a miscarriage, at least we had something to look back at.

You can probably now see why my children and wife are so important to me. I couldn't believe we got as far as three kids. We loved them with all our heart. When they were all young, still excited about Christmas and their birthdays, I took time off work to play with them. I would still be able to tell them I loved them back then. I would still be able to tuck them in, tickle them, make them laugh.

When they started growing up, I started spending more and more time at work. I'd see my kids briefly in the morning, then at dinner and maybe some television time at night.

The problem was, though, I barely talked to them. Especially my only son. He was already grunting nonsense whenever my wife asked him "How was your day?"

The only times I could manage real conversations was when I had to lecture him.

I hated lecturing, but it had to be done. He was getting mixed up with the wrong group of people. He was rude to teachers, cutting classes, pick-pocketing. He'd always say he was sorry and that he'd never do it again.

A month later, we'd have the same talk again.

This kept on going. I kept on worrying. Rinatta was in tears.

I barely saw Jose anymore. He was out of the house whenever I was around. Usually he was at a party or something. He had a curfew. Midnight. If he didn't get home on time, there was some serious trouble coming up.

One time, he did break his curfew. I got so angry at him, I don't even remember what happened. I almost hit him, I think.

I don't even understand why I was so mad. I mean, breaking curfew wasn't nearly as bad as all the pick-pocketing he was doing. I guess I felt like this was the last straw.

After that, I refused to give him anymore "talks".

If he didn't even listen, what was the point?

Rinatta tried to get me to continue talking to him, but I was set on not speaking to him anymore.

It stayed that way.

I knew he'd break out of it, one day. I kept trying to tell my wife that. He's got excellent parents, and a loving family. What more does he need? He's a good kid. He's just a teen. Teens are supposed to be like this, right?

That didn't stop me from being angry at him, though.

Usually, when he comes home and I find out he's stolen something, I get really fired up. But when Jose came home on that one day with _police officers_, I suddenly felt very protective and demanded to know what they had done to my son.

When Rinatta heard what he had done, she started to cry. My two daughters came down to see what was happening and they froze when they saw their older brother with the police.

He had stolen a thousand dollar puppy.

And for some reason, I didn't get angry. I knew he loved animals. When he was younger he'd always say it wasn't fair how they were locked up in cages. He hated the zoo. He hated pet stores.

And he really hated the pound.

I argued with the officers. It was probably not the best thing to do, but they were being completely unfair. They said they had every right to lock him up in jail until a five thousand dollar fine was made.

We argued until we settled on court.

After the police left, we had a family talk. Jose was expecting me to yell, I guess. But I didn't. I told him I was sorry for the way I had been acting, then I told him he shouldn't have done what he had done.

I don't know why, but everyone ended up laughing after our family talk. Everyone was happy. My daughters and wife were in tears, but they were laughing all the same.

It was odd, but I felt like I did when it was Christmas morning and our small kids were tearing open their presents, laughing gleefully and squealing in delight.

Finally, the day of court arrived. We had a lawyer.

They argued until they decided that what Jose needed was some discipline. Juvenile jail, or a correctional facility called Camp Green Lake.

I couldn't believe he was going to be sent away from home. For ten months. He was expecting me to make the decision for him, but I told him he could choose.

Camp Green Lake.

He packed his things. We waited with him at the bus stop. The yellow bus arrived. Rinatta and the girls were crying. He smiled bitterly and hugged them, telling them not to cry, that he'd be back soon.

"Look after Curioso for me," he told them. Curioso was his beloved puppy that we bought for him two years ago.

Then he turned to me.

I wasn't crying. I showed no expression on my face. My features were hardened. My heart was hardened.

He gave me a small smile, "Gracias, papa. Veale alrededor."

I smiled back, my features mellowing a bit.

"Veale alrededor, Jose."

We had a brief, half-hug.

He stepped on the bus. He turned around and smiled sadly at his family. He waved. Then he got on, the doors closed, and the bus rode off. My daughters and wife collapsed on the pavement, weeping.

I suddenly felt empty.

He was gone.

I hadn't talked to him for almost half a year, I didn't see him when I was around. But now, it felt like a hole.

I was cool and composed, but not for long.

"Adios..."

No one saw the tears that trickled down my face as I bid my son a silent farewell...

I sit here, wondering how he's doing. He hasn't replied to the letters we sent him in the first week. I wonder if he'll be all "corrected" when he returns. I wonder if he ever _will_ return.

It seems like he's been gone forever, and that he's not going to come back.

I'm caught flicking through photo albums more often. I'm caught talking to my daughters, laughing and joking with them, so that I may never lose them like how I lost Jose. I'm caught spending more time at home, and spending less at the office.

Because even though I wasn't that close to him when he grew older, only talked to him when I had to lecture, and didn't see much of him, he's still my son.

I still love him, always have, always will.

And I'm still his father, no matter what.

----------

A/N: I'm sorry that Zero's mother and Magnet's mother both had to have problems with conceiving. Please bear with me! Spanish may be extremely off, as I used an internet translator. "Gracias, papa. Veale alrededor," means, "Thank you, dad. See you around." Umm... they need accents above certain letters, but please... just... bear with it. :) Magnet turned out alright. I realise there was next to nothing about how his father was coping AFTER Magnet left, but oh well. :) At the beginning, his father seems all polite and stuff, saying "it was a bit weird at first" but as the chapter goes on, it progresses until he starts pouring everything out. I did that on purpose lol, so it's not a mistake or whatever. :)

Armpit's next, then I think it's Zig. Yeah... like... no one's voting, LOL.

Okay, so NEXT: ARMPIT.

AFTER ARMPIT: ZIGZAG.

AFTER ZIG: TWITCH (yeah, I listened to you Julz :) )

THEN PLEASE VOTE FOR EITHER: X-Ray, Caveman, Barf Bag.

Thanks for reviewing! :) --MSQ.


	4. ARMPIT

Disclaimer: I love D-tent, but as if they'll ever be mine! (hugs Zero tightly and brandishes Holes DVD) STAND BACK, I'M ARMED.

**These Kids**

**Day By Day**

(ARMPIT-BASED. FROM HIS GRANDMOTHER'S POV)

----------

_After I've sent Rish and Roshta to school, I wearily walk back to the kitchen. All the brightness and snap in my performance disappear as I sink down onto a kitchen stool. _

I may be more active than most people my age, but in the end, I'm still an old lady who should have retired long ago. But for the past six years or so, I've been raising three children. A family, all on my own.

There's Theodore, who's sixteen and should be in high school, and the twins, Rish and Roshta, who are nine.

Neighbours and parents at the twins' school are always complimenting me and praising me; they find it remarkable that an old woman like me still has enough energy to raise a family for the second time in my life. They admire my strength and ability to look after the kids.

To my grandchildren, I'm not the spoiling, loving, gentle grandmother I had planned to be. I'm their guardian; their strict, know-when-to-draw-the line, disciplining parent.

_I get up and walk gingerly to the sink to wash the dishes._

My son's wife passed away when the twins were three-years-old. She died of leukaemia and my son couldn't cope with her death. He left the kids with me, and went off to England.

My husband had long since passed away, of old age, and I was just beginning to settle into retirement. Enjoying the rest of my days, where all my hard work would finally pay off, and I would be able to look back on it, knowing I had lived a full life.

But all that changed.

Suddenly, staying on this world became much more important. I had been thinking that it wouldn't matter if I just... died... I'd be with my husband and other passed away family members... it wouldn't matter...

That ended, of course.

I found it pretty hard to manage the kids at first. Theodore was a lively ten-year-old. He was... always up to mischief. He was a bit of an accident-prone and was the main reason why several things in the house needed to be repaired. He was always sneaking snacks from the pantry, and Lilliana would chase him around with a wooden spoon, and tackle him onto the sofa. Both would be laughing and Lilliana would make him promise to eat his whole dinner.

Lilliana was a beautiful soul; there was never a lovelier lady. When she passed way, Theodore lost his liveliness. The twins were too young to understand, but I do remember them wailing for their beloved mummy. Then their father walked out on them.

A broken family.

_The dishes are done and I stack them on the shelf. I go into Rish's room and start picking up her clothes off the pink carpet._

Kids need a mother. Kids need a father.

Rish, Roshta and Theodore had only me.

I guess that explains how Theodore ended up where he is. In a detention centre. In the middle of the night, sometimes I just wake up and cry. I wonder... where I went wrong. Was I too harsh on the boy?

_I leave the bright pink bedroom and enter Roshta's blue room. His computer games are all over the place. His first birthday card made with much love by his parents and Theodore hangs framed on the wall. With a wry smile, I walk over and touch it slightly._

I remember that card. It was when the twins were turning a year old, and Theodore was very excited that his baby brother and sister were having their birthday. Lilliana came up with the idea of making the card, out of cardboard with sequins and ribbon and glitter and clipart from the computer. She was always full of ideas and creativity.

At that time, I wasn't living with them. I lived in a nice, old building; a sort of retirement home. I lived in one of the apartments and there were plenty of other old folk around. We were like a family, in a sense.

Lilliana was growing weaker week by week, and though she tried to keep up her usual confident and cheerful appearance we knew something was wrong. My son took her to the doctor's, much to her chagrin. She denied that anything was wrong and refused to lay low on her work.

_I'm back down in the kitchen. Trembling slightly, I open the cabinet and take out a bottle of scotch._

I'm not a drinker. I've always set my mind to it that it's a horrid habit and a sinful one, at that. But sometimes, particularly these days, I feel driven to it.

It helps me... forget, I suppose. Not that I want to wipe out the memories of my beautiful grandchildren, my son, my daughter-in-law, my husband, and the rest of my family. But it's hard. I'm getting older and I'm not getting any stronger. One day, I won't be there for my children. They'll need someone else.

And what are they to do then?

Theodore's life has already crashed. Ever since entering middle school, he's been different. Reluctant to talk about his day and spending too much time cooped up in his room. I remember it wasn't like that with my children. But this is a different generation, so I suppose that explains it.

_After I've downed the beverage, I feel a sudden surge of anger in my veins._

It's not fair! It was never fair! I've already spent my life working hard and getting through all my trials and tribulations! I've already gone through my share of it. Why am I still suffering?

Why did Lilliana have to be sick? Why did she have to die?

Why did my son leave? Why couldn't he stay strong? Her death affected us all, but none of us have fled to England. Why couldn't he be the good father I know he is and stay to watch his children grow up? He left two confused toddlers and a distraught growing boy behind. Why?

It's not fair... it never will be...

I'm bitter. I'm full of sorrow. Full of anguish. And I'm still grieving for a happy family that was lost six years ago. A full, hopeful, perfect family.

_I pour myself another small glass of scotch._

When I received that phone call... the one that haunted my life and blighted me in a way I had never been affected before, even when my husband died. My son's voice was quavering on the other end of the line.

_"Mum... she's... it... she's not with us anymore, mum."_

And I remember the funeral. It... it was sad beyond words. Oh, _sad_ isn't the right word. Neither is devastating. No... I can't describe it. But it was as if something was choking up inside of me, suffocating me...

But to tell you the truth, that wasn't as bad as what I experienced a couple of days later.

I was making my usual weekly trip to their house. I had been visiting every day since her passing to help out with the children. The twins were too young to notice anything, and were their usual selves, save them continuously asking where their mother was. My son had become a sort of robot - he hadn't shown any emotion since the funeral. I wanted him to mourn with me. I wanted him to shed as many tears as necessary. Because then he would be more _human_. Instead, this sudden mechanical state had taken place. It worried me. It wasn't healthy. Not for himself, not for the children.

I should have seen what was coming. At least had the vaguest idea, the way things were going. But I suppose I didn't want to entertain the awful thought.

Because it would mean that my son was a coward and couldn't even stay together for his family. And I didn't want to believe that. I didn't want to think that. He would be strong, I thought, he would keep everyone going.

When I arrived at their house one morning... it was in a strange state. It was a school day, yet Theodore was still in his pyjamas, his eyes fixed on the television screen, though it looked like his spiritual self was elsewhere. The twins hadn't even gone to bed last night, it seemed, as they were both asleep on their beanbags, fully-clothed.

My son was nowhere to be seen. Theodore only shrugged when I asked him. It was so much different from what it used to be; when I would enter into their house and the three children would come flying at me, happy to see their beloved grandmother.

It broke my heart to see them like this.

But it was nothing compared to the grief I suffered when I discovered he had gone, leaving me nothing but his mess.

_The scotch burns down my throat, but it feels good._

It was hard, accepting he really had left. It was hard, going to every living relative within reasonable distance, asking them about the children, and being turned down every time. And it was hard, when it was suggested the children go into foster care.

I couldn't have that. So I took them in.

Six long, hard years followed. Watching the twins grow up was wonderful, but watching Theodore struggle was among the hardest thing I had to see. If only his parents were still around...

I disciplined him. Punished him when he needed it. Gave him serious talks when his grades were dropping. Praised him when he performed well. But my attempts were fruitless. Even as I tried, I saw him slipping away.

Until he finally ended up where he is now.

At Camp Green Lake.

It's been months since I last saw him. He shouldn't be there. The guardians should be the ones disciplining their children, not some government-run place where hundreds of other criminal boys are.

Theodore's not a criminal. No, he's still got as much of a heart as he did six years ago, before his family crumbled.

_I sigh heavily as I replace the bottle back on the shelf, and wash my glass._

I must not give up. I may have lost my daughter in law and my son, but I still have Rish and Roshta to take care of. I'm an old lady, but God gave me this task, and I will fulfill it to the best of my ability.

And I have Theodore.

When he comes back... I will not let him leave again. I'll make him see how he's hurt his family, and I'll make sure he'll never do this to me and his brother and sister again. How _could_ he do this to us? His own family? It wasn't only him who was hurt by his parents!

_At this, I lose control. I give a cry of anguish and throw down the dishcloth._

Why am I the only one who can stay strong for the family? One leaves, and they all collapse, and it's up to _me_ to pull them together! How come I couldn't be the one who breaks down? Why do I have to always be around to help everyone else?

It's always been this way. I've never been allowed to sit and cry when anyone else was around. Because if I did, there would be no one else to help us. We'd be helpless.

Day by day, I looked after my children. It wasn't easy, but bringing kids up is never easy.

Day by day, I watched them grow up. They got married, moved away, and had children of their own.

Day by day, I sat by my husband's side in the hospital, watching hopelessly as his life slipped away.

Day by day, I enjoyed my time in the retirement home, where I didn't have any worries and made friends of my own.

I faced many changes.

Day by day, I look after the twins, wondering what will happen to them when my time comes.

Day by day, I am filled with hopelessness and dread as I think about Theodore, and how far away he is from home.

Day by day, I put my hand to the plough and keep working hard.

_Just when I think all my faith is gone, the phone rings. It is my son. The son I have not seen or heard from for six years._

"_Mum," he says._

_And we both cry. We talk for hours. And cry most of that time, as well. But mostly, we are happy._

_"Mum, I'm coming back," at last he says softly, "I need to see you and my children again."_

It is hard to describe how I feel. Very emotional, and filled with all hope and joy again. Knowing that he is returning is like a light in my life. Maybe I should be angry and bitter towards him for leaving me, but I'm not.

I no longer feel dread at the thought of my grandchildren's future. Their father is returning and he will care for them. And that is a very comforting thought.

_With a smile that lights up my face, I finish straightening out the house with unusual snap and spirit. I am glowing with happiness._

There is hope for all of us now. Hope for Rish and Roshta. Hope for me. Hope for Theodore. He and his father were the best of friends, a long time ago. Maybe he can set him straight where I have failed.

Day by day, I used to wait. Waiting for the twins to come home from school. Waiting for Theodore to come home from Camp Green Lake. And always, waiting for my son to come home from England.

I no longer have to wait for anyone.

We'll be a happy, reunited family, and live everyday to its extent. I will no longer have to wait for that faraway day in the future, where everything falls back into place, because that day has arrived.

_"Rish, Roshta, I have some wonderful news for you," I say happily, my eyes filling with shining tears._

----------

A/N:O I am so, so, so, SO sorry for not updating for ages! I've been writing this for about a year now, whenever I had time or felt like it (hehe) and well, I decided to finish it off. Aww .. I was listening to the "Dig It" song by the D-tent boys the other night and I was reminded of HOW MUCH I LOVE THE WIDDLE ZERO. x) And yes, I was feeling in an updating spirit so here is the funky Armpit, although there wasn't much about him. Feel free to bean me with lamingtons for taking a millennium. xD Twahaha.

Anyway, thanks everyone for your kind reviews. x) I know it's been awhile, and it's really nice to write something for Holes again. I'll try update sooner! Next is Zigzag. xD Then Twitch, then it's X-Ray _(crowd goes wild)_, then BARF BAG (yay) and the lovely lil Caveman. x) That's it, the votes are closed, your verdict is .. uh .. ready, and I shall see you in another millennium muahahahahaha! (No, I'm serious.) x) --MSQ.


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